


Marking Pistachio's Territory

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Prison Break
Genre: First Time, M/M, Prison Sex, Rough Kissing, Roughness, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 10:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14615952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: T-Bag and Bellick have spent eternity playing cat and mouse, from Fox River to the outside, and now Sona. And the first chance he has to claim 'his' Brad, now that they're equals in jail together, Bellick is only flirting with someone else. A barber called 'Pistachio' no less. T-Bag isn't having that - oh no - he's going to reclaim what's his. Set during Season Three.





	Marking Pistachio's Territory

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic. Posted in 2007 to Livejournal.

Either the heat was getting to him - from watching sizzling dead flies on the windowsill and vague squiggles, almost invisible, burning off the terracotta tiles - or he was going insane in this asylum. But ex-guard Bellick felt like a pirate digging for buried treasure, as he rooted through Pistachio's box of possessions, and the prize was far greater than any gold. He'd been hobbling around with one shoe on for what felt like an eternity now, and previous attempts to get it back had failed. Even _flirting_ with the obviously gay inmate, as much as it had pained Brad to do so, had not been successful. God - being turned down in prison hadn't _half_ made him feel grotesque. But he had to put that aside - his foot was throbbing, blistered and in need.

He softly tossed out several dirty items, the knives, the knuckle-dusters and salvaged clothes, searching for the shoe he sought. Trying not to unsettle them too much, he knew he would have to put them back exactly as was. Because if that Pistachio character caught him at it, he would be a dead man. He might have been a _queen_ , but he was a _killer_ one. "Dammit," he muttered in frustration as he accidentally broke down the corners of the cardboard container. Rummaging through like this brought back memories of his old toy chest as a boy. He hadn't had many, but his mother made sure he never went without. How he wished to see Mama now.  
  
"Hey," T-Bag banged against the cell front, "I seen you, offering your sorry body to that little friend of yours." Despite of his weariness, he still contained enough vigour to lash out against the bars - his brow was soaked, needing mopping, where his thin tee clung onto his pecs with sweat. But even that was more strength than Bellick had. He'd watched him as he'd limped over here.

"What's it to you?" he replied. Thirst, hunger and the need for a bath, or at least good hosing down, were topics which mattered to him now. Bagwell wasn't important. The chase was over as far as he was concerned.

"Why'd you never give it up for me like that?" the criminal challenged him. From memory, he pictured Pistachio there, in his own cell, where that traitor was now making his excuses. He thought of him, semi-undressed in his tied crop-top, with his wonderful, delicious black torso on show. He was definitely attractive, from anybody's point of view, and a man of many talents; a barber and a fighter with a considerably more athletic build than his own. Could he be better-looking than _this_ Southern belle?  
  
"Don't you understand?" he asked, a dry rasp in his voice. "I didn't need anything from you," Bellick explained, "I was only putting my body up for _trade_ \- didn't think I'd get _much_ for it anyway!' He glanced down at his portly frame, and ran a hand over his swollen stomach, before getting back to work. "What's wrong, anyway? It sounds like the green-eyed monster is getting to you," he chuckled, knee-deep in heaps of colourful clutter.

"It's not that... I just don't think he likes the bear-type. You could use someone who really appreciates you. Like me." His desperation had not gone unnoticed and Brad was laughing now, because T-Bag was jealous. And Teddy had had enough of that - it was officially time to flick his switch into 'bitch' position. "He'd be heartbroken," the con then hissed, "If he found you here, messing up all of his _stu-uff_."

Upon finding what he was looking for, that lone plimsoll of the dead, he tapped it out for sand and carefully began the rearrangement process. "He won't find out," he assured himself, returning and replacing as he smiled.   
  
"Well that's funny," T-Bag remained unfazed, set out to wipe that smirk off his face, "Because I can see him now and he does _not_ look happy." Elbows bent and pushed between the bars in a satisfying press, he smoothed the still lingering traces of his dark blonde hair and shook his head. "Tut, tut, tut. I can stall him for you, if you want?" he offered, clicking his tongue against the inside of his cheek every so many seconds, to represent the time Bellick was wasting.

The bigger man dropped what he was doing in reaction not only to to the words, which he half-believed, but the rumbling in his gut - he felt sick to his stomach. New inmates didn't push their luck this side of the border. He'd seen it - he'd fought the fights; he'd even been forced to clean out the goddamn toilet bowls. "He can't be there!" he quickly slipped on the grubby footwear. Steadying himself with one hand, he fully squashed the box he'd tried so hard to save, "Help me Bagwell, I'll do anything."  
  
Theodore eased his arms back through the bars and slowly swung around the cell - he was in no hurry because _he_ knew he was lying. What a _snake!_ He knew that the fear would be holding Brad for a fair long while. "Anything?" he approached him, a familiar gleam in his eye. For the first time in Sona, he was going to come out on _top_.

"A kiss? A screw?" he suggested, "Or how about you tell me why - when I've got you by the balls and I'm humiliating you good and proper - threating to beat you, threatening to hump your ma's saggy, middle-aged pussy... or even when I've got a fricking _gun_ to your head - you won't _touch_ me or let me _touch_ you.' He found that for some reason, he _really_ cared to know. Bellick attempted escape from his now firm hold, but his brute strength was reduced to a weakened shove, too feeble to face his T-Bag's iron will.

"Is it that I'm ugly? Not good enough for you?" Bagwell went on, "Well let me tell you something - I may not be beautiful, but neither are you, sugar-tits. And if I feel like taking something in here to remind me of Fox River, then I will. Understand?"  
  
Teddy lashed out against his chest, seemingly to beat up his belly - undernourished of late, but nonetheless big - but instead, his fists slowly opened and hands trailed along the ex-guard's front, smoothing down his filthy t-shirt and gently knocking against _other_ areas, Bellick clearly having no underwear on beneath his tiger print pants. He heard Brad, who seemed to be frozen to the spot, gasp in surprise and possibly arousal. T-Bag's hands touched upon the same spot again, before caressing his chest on the way back up. But his fingers had now re-curled and his fatal fists were hovering there, poised before Brad's trembling face.

Though instead of punching him, squarely between the eyes, again he opted for the unexpected - a rough kiss on the lips. With the mashing and clashing of teeth, gushing of blood where gums had ripped and split, a hasty tongue swiped across Bellick's just once, knowing best when to stop - enough to show him who's boss. Teddy grinned. Positively Cheshire. It was something he'd been waiting a long time to do. All of the times that Brad had been in charge of the prison, it was impossible. But now they were equals, and _he_ was the one bleeding.

Bellick spat out the metallic-tasting swill, and turned to ask, "Where's Pistachio?"

T-Bag took a pink rag from off the floor, as if it was a feather boa from a bag of theatrical props, and lifted it over him like a veiled bride. "He ain't nowhere," he cried, "And believe me - you won't be seeing your little boyfriend, ever again..."


End file.
